


Ghosted

by nai_nodayo



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fallout, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, a bit of PTSD, will add the rest of the tags as it progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4630179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nai_nodayo/pseuds/nai_nodayo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete didn't choose this. Patrick isn't sure of his decisions. Mikey never wanted to be a part of this. Gerard thought "he's gone". Frank is a wanderer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Battery City

**Author's Note:**

> my df got me into fallout 3 so guess who bombed megaton haha
> 
> this was just a spur of the moment thing, i hope i'll be able to finish it.

"I'm _still_ not used to this." Mikey said, groaning when he got up from the dank smelling bed with the springs wearing out. It was to be expected from the Wasteland. After all, life is entirely different outside the Vault. It was still dark out and passing out in the middle of the day didn't really help Mikey with his sleep schedule. It wasn't safe to venture out in the Wasteland at night, so he and Pete decided to stay the night in another old, broken down house in another unknown town they came across.

"Well, it was your choice." Pete said from across the small room, he was relaxed on his own bed, and damn he was good at making it look comfortable. He still hasn't had a proper sleep since the Vault. The bags under his eyes told the story.

"Yeah right, _you_ were the one who led me out here." Mikey scoffed and swung his legs to get down from the bed.

"You could've been killed, Mikey I-" Pete stopped mid-sentence and lowered his head. The reason he wanted to keep Mikey safe was because, he didn't want to take another life. Technically, they both ran away. Pete never wanted to be a raider in the first place.

For the past few days, they'd been taking refuge in the abandoned, run down houses in the middle of nowhere, far from the Vault and Pete's old raider group. Pete had chosen the risky way. He definitely didn't choose the life of a raider. He was yelled at and trained to kill from a young age. There were hazy memories from the days he lived in the Vault. His whole childhood was taken away from him.

 

"Kid, you're doing it wrong!" The older raider spat at him and grabbed him by the hand. Pete was shaking while he held the gun and nearly dropped it out of shock.

"Do you want another fucking beating, huh?" The man snarled and snatched the gun out of Pete's small hands and cocked it to the side of his head. "Or do you wanna die?"

 

_"Pete!"_

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Mikey grabbing him by the shoulders. Pete didn't realize he was crying until he felt his breath hitching. Then he broke down.

"I'm sorry, it's okay, it's not your fault." Mikey mumbled and hushed his companion. There was no time for blaming each other. They needed to survive out here. Even though Mikey didn't quite understand the sudden outburst, he owed Pete a lot and decided that comforting him and being less of an asshole was the right thing to do.

 

"Toro, we've got another runner here." Joe called out while carrying the unconscious man on his shoulders.

"What is it this time?" The man called Toro walked out of the room and looked at the man Joe brought in. He had sandy caramel hair with dirt and dried up blood tainting his pasty skin. He wore a suit that had the number '407' written on the back. Vault 407. Judging by the appearance of his clothing, this guy's probably been out and about for a week or so.

"Hurley found him after a pack of dogs nearly feasted on his flesh." Joe brought the guy over to the spare bed to lay him down. Toro pulled out the box loaded with Stimpaks from the top of the shelf. He carefully picked out several and some gauze pads.

Toro made his way to the injured and cleaned off his wounds with a dampened cloth. He proceeded to inject the man with the Stimpaks and covering up the bleeding wounds with the gauze. He wasn't so torn up for a beat down from the dogs. It could've gone worse.

"He should be fine when he wakes up, just leave him to rest." Toro said and packed up his medical kit. Joe nodded and left, to make his way across town with only darkness from the night sky and light from his lousy, flickering flashlight.

 

Pete fell asleep _crying_ in Mikey's arms. Thank god he didn't drool all over. Mikey was somewhat able to tuck Pete back into his own bed. It was probably best to let him sleep it off, so Mikey got one of the pistols by the collapsing table and took watch instead. It was the most he could do for a sleep deprived Pete. And he sat there, waiting for morning to come with his only source of entertainment which was watching Pete snore in his sleep.

 

Patrick awoke next morning with a splitting headache and the unpleasant smell of the wasteland under his nose. Strangely, it smelled a little like anesthesia. He blinked slowly and look around him. A shelf littered with opened tin cans was on his left, a broken down bedside table on his right. The room was a little dark, the light coming from the windows being blocked out by the thick makeshift curtain that hasn't been washed for days. Nobody really had easy access to clean water in the Wasteland. It was all radiated from the atomic bomb that destroyed America hundreds of years ago.

Patrick shivered and remembered his home back in the Vault. There they had everything to survive. Plumbing that provided clean water, energy plants to supply electricity, proper food, and a decent bed to sleep in, not one that was falling apart. He was now out here in the Wasteland, unprepared and vulnerable. He blamed the raiders, yet he also blamed himself. He fled the Vault because of them out of fear, he didn't have time to make a rational decision. 

Or maybe because he was never liked by the Overseer. For years, the Stump family was never on 'good' terms with the Overseer. Patrick never truly understood why, he was kept out of the arguments by his mother. Then that one night, his Father was gone, dead in their home. Patrick had sworn to avenge his father. But somehow, he ended up here, outside the damn Vault.

Panic rose in his chest. _Why was he in a strange house?_ He recalled being attacked by... some animals? He had passed out before he could even try to fight them back. 

"Oh, you're awake." A man with thick curly hair entered the room, carrying a box that had a cross on it, which Patrick assumed had medical tools. He wore a light armor over his shirt and some on his arms and had a pair of jeans that had a load of pockets.

"W-Who are you?" Patrick stuttered and instantly sat up. The man set his box down and waved his hands as gesture.

"Calm down, I'm Ray Toro. We found you bleeding last night so we took you in." Ray said and sat down on the chair by the bed.

" _We?_ "

"Yeah, you're in Battery City. I assume you came from the Vault." Ray was curious to why this man was out here. He looked like the type who wouldn't plot to escape the Vault and leave a good life behind.

"My name's Patrick. I, uh, the Vault was raided and I escaped. I wasn't sure of where I was going so I got lost." He bowed his head down to hide his face. It sounded like a petty and childish reason to get lost, but again, it was the damn Wasteland. It was partially true though.

"Do you want to maybe, go back to your Vault?" Ray asked, he didn't mean to pry. Patrick shrugged a little.

"Yeah a bit, but not right now." He said without thinking. What kind of answer was _that_? Who wouldn't want to go back into the Vault? Before Patrick could say anything else, Ray spoke.

"Okay then, well you're welcome to stay around town. I called Andy and he said he has a spare room for you to stay in." Ray said. Patrick got up from the bed and winced slightly at his numbed legs. Must've slept on the wrong side.

"He lives just down a few blocks to the right. He's always outside on patrol, you should be able to tell who he is because he's rocking a huge ginger beard." Patrick nodded and made his way towards the door to leave. Ray waved. "See you around."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are super appreciated ! 8))
> 
>  
> 
> also hahaha fuck battery city so original


	2. Coke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter because i somewhat have a solid plot and backstory for this fic HAHAHA i hope i will be able to put them to words

The moment he stepped out, he took in his surroundings. Rusted metals and debris, and the foul smell of chemicals, everything they said about the Wasteland was true. From murky radiated waters to collapsing bridges, and obviously, there were no proper roads anywhere. Just one big junk yard land.

He cringed visibly when he saw the mangled, and still bloody pieces left of a pack dog. It smelled absolutely fucking rotten. He moved further, following the dirt path and away from the place he once called home.

For the first time in his life, Gerard felt the sense of freedom. Yet grief still nagged him from the back of his mind. He had to find _him._

 

"That would be 30 caps."

"15?"

"30."

Frank was sick of this shit. He was _not_ going to sell three pistol rounds for 15 fucking caps. He wouldn't have enough money to buy his damn cigarettes. It was hard to find cheap smokes in the Wasteland, it was always too expensive.

Then, as if he read his mind, the customer pulled out a pack of cigarettes and set it on the table. Frank stared at it.

"Deal." He said, snatching the smokes and handed the rounds to the man. The man smirked, thanked him quietly, and left.

Frank sighed and pulled a stick out, lighting it up from the candle that was conveniently lit on top of the table. He took a deep drag and looked around. 

"Hello?" A voice called from the front of his tiny shop as the door opened (it was just right outside his house, whatever). Frank released the smoke he was holding in and stood up from his chair.

"Welcome, what do you need?" He said, a little monotonously. But his jaw nearly fell open when he saw where the voice was coming from.

The guy had shockingly bright red hair with the dye running a bit down his neck, he wore a dark tank top, and a dark blue Vault suit jacket hastily tied to his waist and the pants were the usual boring Vault-blue rolled up to show off his dusty combat boots.

 _Oh no, he's hot._ Frank's cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth , so he held onto it before it could even fall. The stranger looked around the shop curiously.

"Do you uh, have rounds for this kind of pistol?" He nervously held out a small hand gun and put it down on the table so Frank could get a good look at it.

"Yeah I think I do, hold on." Frank said and stubbed out his smoke on the ashtray and stood on his fucking tippy toes to search the higher shelves behind the counter. He found the box and pulled it out to rummage through the various types of ammunition. Once he found the correct one, he brought it over to the stranger.

"Here, that would be 90 caps for the whole box." Frank said and opened the box to show that it was still complete and all. The stranger's face seemed to turn paler than it was earlier.

"Oh shit, um, can I buy it like, one by one?" He asked nervously. Frank nodded.

"I don't sell 'per shot' but I sell by rounds. 10 caps each." He clarified.

"I'll take two." The stranger laughed and brought out the caps from his pocket. He cursed quietly, something about having money for smokes? Ah yes, Frank sighed. Another fellow like him.

"Smokes?" Frank suddenly pipes up while grabbing two rounds for the dude. The guy nodded.

"Yeah, where do I find them?" He scratched the back of his head shyly. "I'm kind of a noob here," He gestured awkwardly at his attire. Frank totally understood.

"Yeah it's fine, I mean hey, you're good enough to stay alive. I've got some smokes here." Frank offered.

"How much?"

Frank bit on his lip and thought about it. He never actually sold smokes before.

"For free, only for you." He blurted out without even thinking. Yeah, Frank Iero, smooth one right there. The stranger's cheeks seemed a little redder than they were moments ago (probably from the heat, fuck the radiation).

"Wow, really?" He said. Frank nodded and grabbed the abandoned pack from the edge of the counter and held it out for the stranger.

"Yeah, for real. So be thankful, because I never _ever_ share my smokes." He said. The stranger took one and lit it from the candle on the table.

"I'm Frank." Frank said. There he fucking goes again, blurting shit out without realizing. At this rate, he was probably going to embarrass himself and say something stupid like how cute the stranger was.

"Gerard." The stranger, Gerard, replied and exhaled puffs of smoke. He had his cigarette on the side of his mouth and talked from the other side to keep the stick hanging. God, Frank would kill to have that mouth on his-

Okay wait, he took a deep breath and sat down to hide himself some more behind the puny counter between them which Gerard was now leaning against. Now was _definitely not_ the fucking time to be popping boners in front of strangers just because they we're on fucking fire.

"You okay dude? You seem a little pale." Gerard spoke and watched Frank fidget in his seat, his face looking ridiculously pale and sweaty.

"Yeah I am, it's just, hot y'know,  
with you around."

_What in the actual fuck, Frank._

Gerard raised his eyebrows and plucked the cigarette hanging off his mouth. Smooth as fuck.

"I-I mean like, if you're okay with being called hot, wait no, I meant," Frank groaned and brought a hand to hide his face in shame. He was probably redder than Gerard's hair right now.

But then, Gerard was _laughing his mother fucking ass off._

"Oh my god, Frank, it's fine. Like, you're hot too and all." Gerard paused and took another drag from the cigarette between his pretty pink lips.

"Um, anyway, do you know a place to stay in? I've been going around and all I found are broken down houses that look like they could fall apart if I try to lay a finger on it." He asked and stubbed his cigarette on the same ashtray Frank did.

"Yeah, there's a town around here, to the east, not too far. I go around there to trade and sometimes buy coke off a friend of mine to sell."

"Coke?" Gerard raised an eyebrow.

"Coke. Y'know it's business out here in the wastes." Frank waves a hand around suggestively and reaches for another cigarette. Yeah, no fucking biggie. Gerard now knows Frank is sort of involved in the big bad business. But then again, there was only lesser evil in the current world they lived in.

"Woah, before you get any ideas, I do not do drugs. Okay, maybe I tried some but I just make a bit of extra caps off of it." Frank held up his hands. Gerard didn't really peg him for the 'addict' type. He didn't look like one.

"It's cool," Gerard holstered his gun and kept the rounds he bought in his pockets. "Do you live here?"

Frank nodded and hoisted himself up to sit on the already dirty counter.

"It's kinda temporary, I used to live in town but I figured I'd go jump a bit from place to place because I scavenge a lot and I'm rarely home."

"So you'll be gone the next time I come around here?" Gerard took in the sight of the tight and small place. A torn up mattress was nestled around the corner, behind the counter. A few of Frank's belongings scattered on the floor next to it and the stuff he sold up on the nearby shelves and the rest were presumably under the counter.

"Maybe... God, I don't know." Frank stared long and hard at the floor beneath his feet, counting all the cracks he could without staying quiet for too long.

"Oh, alright then. I guess I better go." Gerard turned to face the exit. He really wanted to see Frank again but

"Thanks for the smokes, Frank. See you around." He said over his shoulder and left. 

 

Fucking _hell._ Frank let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He literally considered just offering Gerard to stay in this shitty shack. But where was he going to sleep? On the floor? Hell no, it would've been awkward for both of them.

Frank sighed and pushed himself off the counter. He was going to have to come running back to Battery City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are rad and they keep me going so go ahead and give one if you'd like !


	3. Run and Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like there isnt enough peterick in this story dammit

He felt thick liquid hit his skin, he couldn't see anything, he was playing this game blind. In the darkness, he hacked and slashed aimlessly, terrified. A voice laughed from the darkness. 

"You can't escape the Vault. Never. We'll find you—"

Patrick bolted awake so fast, the back of his head smacked against the wall loudly. Then, he remembered he went to rest in one of the rent houses before he could find who he was looking for. Patrick actually got lost trying to find the Andy guy Toro told him about, it was dark out that time so he had a kind of valid excuse. He was always shit at navigating. 

He guessed he fell asleep _for too long._ His fingers clutched the sheets tightly as he panted. It was still haunting him, he needed some sort of distraction. He sighed and got out of bed, folding the thin blankets haphazardly. He shrugged on the thick, sandy, army jacket hanging by the bed and quickly laced on his boots on by the door before he headed out.

It was still early, around 6 in the morning according to the Pip-Boy on his wrist. The Pip-Boy's screen glowed faintly, Patrick's had it for years, since he was a teenager. The edges were marred and had multiple nicks on the screen, but it was still intact and working properly.

His hands drifted over the holster on his right leg, where his gun was in. He thought he probably wouldn't need it unless he stepped out of town, but of course he needed it _all the time_ now since he was living in the damn Wasteland.

Patrick couldn't exactly inhale _fresh air_ during his morning walk. Because what kind of place that had been bombed with atomic bombs _had_ fresh air? It only smelled like burnt rubber and chemicals, as usual, it wasn't so foul though, it was tolerable. There was still a hint of the sun's scent, but the trees and grass were absent too, they were gone a long time ago. There were no fields or meadows to run in, no trees to climb. Everything from those childhood daydreams were only fantasies now. Patrick never experienced it. It's been almost a century since the bomb. It took everything, millions of lives, and annihilated the sanity of the human race. Now, there were divisions between those of the Vault and the Wasteland, the humans, the Feral, and Ghouls. It was truly an apocalypse.

Suddenly, Patrick stumbled a bit and hit someone on the shoulder.

"Dude, what the fuck? Watch where you're going." A blonde man with rather bushy eyebrows mumbled to him. Patrick stuttered out an apology, lowered his head to avoid eye contact and kept walking forward. He didn't want to stir trouble in town or any at all. Eventually, he found himself standing in front of an old and rusty door, much like the other doors. Patrick raised a hand hesitantly, to knock on the crusty looking metal. The door swung open a moment later.

"Morning, Patrick?" A man with a huge ginger beard greeted him. He had dark colored hair that was slicked back neatly (probably with all the grease) and didn't go past his ears. The man was heavily tattooed, colors peeking from his neck, arms, and legs. Patrick nodded when his name was mentioned, a little awkwardly. He was slightly intimidated by the well-built man before him despite the dude being only a couple of inches taller.

"Come in, Joe told me you were coming." Andy said, opening the door wider. Patrick stepped in hesitantly, who the fuck was Joe?

"Oh yeah, Joe's the guy who brought you to Toro, I found you while I was on patrol and he offered to help." Andy answered the question drifting in Patrick's mind. He was probably psychic or some shit. Patrick was more intimidated.

They went up the stairs to the second floor, which was bare except for a couple of shelves with empty boxes, and a bed frame with an old mattress. 

"Bathroom's downstairs, I don't cook and it's a good thing the diner is two doors down so we'll get by." Andy laughed a little and fished a key out of his pocket and handed it to Patrick. 

"I've got patrol in a bit so see you at night." Andy waved and grabbed his rifle that hung off the hook by the door. Patrick waved back and waited until the door shut. Well, he needed _something_ to do now.

 

When Pete woke up, Mikey was fast asleep by the foot of the ratty bed, leaning against the wall, eyelashes against his cheek and his mouth opened slightly. Pete felt bad for what he was going to do but he had to wake him up so they could get going to who-the-fuck-knows-where.

"Mikey." Pete whispered and nudged the sleeping boy's shoulder gently. Mikey stirred and shrugged the hand away. He opened his eyes a crack and rubbed at them, groaning in protest. Pete's cheeks felt hot for a moment.

"Fuck off." Mikey mumbled and pushed Pete's hand away and hid his face from the light coming from the window. 'He's such a drama queen, it isn't even that bright.' Pete thought. But then he remembered Mikey lived a very sheltered life inside the Vault, never stepping out to see the sun beat down it's rays across the scathed lands, he had only lived under artificial lights.

"Come on, please?" Pete pleaded and swung his legs off the bed to where his shoes were. He actually bothered to take them off, before last night, he constantly slept on the fly, raider life wasn't easy. For some reason, Mikey made him feel somewhat at ease despite not knowing him much. Pete still had to be cautious.

Mikey had no idea why Pete had chosen him to 'kidnap' out of all people. But when thought about, Mikey would have actually fled either way. Pete just raced him to it. Mikey didn't mind, he had to get away.

Finally, Mikey sighed and got up from his spot on the bed, he didn't need to slip on shoes, he wore it to sleep. Pete smiled at him while tying up the shoe laces on his bulky boots.

"We still have to find exactly where that city is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment bc those keep me going


End file.
